


You Will Lose It All, Even The Things That Were Never Yours

by Still_beating_heart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also vague references to non canonical deaths, Depression, Don't even know where to start here, I'm not convinced this is a happy ending, M/M, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Nogitsune Trauma, POV Derek Hale, Sadness, Suicidal Thoughts, The Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), canonical deaths, maybe if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: Check notes.  There is no fluff here.  Read tags.------------The woman’s hand was ice.  Gripping down on his.  Her face stony and her whisper harsh, breath a warm burst against his arm as she spoke.   A cold chill down his spine and the sun darting behind a grey cloud, a roll of thunder in the distance.  Echoing through his skull over the sound of the ferris wheel and the carnival games.  The smell of sulfur clung to the air around her over the sickeningly sweet scent of cotton candy and elephant ears.  With a tang of lemonade and sugary snow cones.  Black pepper at her fingertips and sparked gems in her eyes so blue they looked purple.The woman’s hand was cold.  Her bones were frail.  Her grip was strong.  Her whisper was a storm rolling in on a hot summer day, piercing his armor and weakening his knees.  But it was just a prophecy.  Just a fortune teller.  Just an old psychic at a traveling carnival.“You will lose it all,” she told him, her voice weary, worn thin and whisper quiet.  A voice a human could never hear over the sound of the rides and games and squealing children, “even the things that were never yours.”------------
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	You Will Lose It All, Even The Things That Were Never Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty dark. Most of the events are canonical with some internal workings added, some suicidal thoughts on Derek's part and a mentioned suicide attempt on Stiles' part. 
> 
> I'm getting itchy to rip the top off the can, take all the worms out and just go to town... but I'm not quite there yet, this is just the surface. And I'm sure better writers than I have explored all of this before. 
> 
> I can't say it's a happy ending, but they're together as Stiles ages, so maybe?

You Will Lose It All, Even The Things That Were Never Yours

Derek knew by the time he was fifteen. He knew it. 

He knew better than to believe in prophecies. Fortune tellers. Psychics. 

The woman’s hand was cold. Wrinkled and weathered. Thin like tissue paper. Her fingernails were broken. Jagged and yellowed. Her teeth were old and grey. Her lips faded and her eyes bright. Brighter than a set of eyes in a face of worn weather and cold death should have been. 

The woman’s hand was ice. Gripping down on his. Her face stony and her whisper harsh, breath a warm burst against his arm as she spoke. A cold chill down his spine and the sun darting behind a grey cloud, a roll of thunder in the distance. Echoing through his skull over the sound of the ferris wheel and the carnival games. The smell of sulfur clung to the air around her over the sickeningly sweet scent of cotton candy and elephant ears. With a tang of lemonade and sugary snow cones. Black pepper at her fingertips and sparked gems in her eyes so blue they looked purple. 

The woman’s hand was cold. Her bones were frail. Her grip was strong. Her whisper was a storm rolling in on a hot summer day, piercing his armor and weakening his knees. But it was just a prophecy. Just a fortune teller. Just an old psychic at a traveling carnival. 

“You will lose it all,” she told him, her voice weary, worn thin and whisper quiet. A voice a human could never hear over the sound of the rides and games and squealing children, “even the things that were never yours.”

His heart was a hard thud in his ears as his mouth opened. Opened to speak. But what was there to say? It’s just a prophecy spoken through the lips of a fortune teller. There was no pulse of magic around her. There was no energy in the air setting off his wolf senses. She was just an old woman. An old woman who spent her life in a traveling carnival. 

His mouth clamped shut. Her hands clamped on his. Pulsing a warning. His spine straightened. Breath wavered. The storm was going to be upon them soon.

She released her cold grip. Hands like a baby bird. Wrinkled and pink. Delicate and soft boned. 

The wind blew slow. It blew hard. It snapped with the energy of a billion joules. Lighting the horizon with hues of fire. 

The wind blew slow. The smell of rain gently wafting through the air around him as Paige’s hand slide into his. Timid and shy. His eyes snapped away from the old woman, retreating now into the crowd. Just a prophecy. Just an old fortune teller, telling the humans the things they want to hear. Just an old woman. Traveling through town with a carnival. 

Nothing more.

“We should get home before the storm rolls in,” he told Paige slowly, each word punched out of him carefully. 

“What storm?” the stuffed bear he won for her under her arm, and the goldfish she won for him grasped in her fist.

He felt a smile lift his face and break the trance. 

It always seems so distant in the calm before the storm. It feels untouchable. Like nothing can shake the soul. Nothing can crumble the foundation. The threat rolling in on the horizon is not to be believed. Even when he can hear it coming. Even when he can feel it coming. It takes the strike of lightning at his feet before he can believe it.

It was her first. Her with her eyes like melting chocolate. Her skin pale snow. The perfect mark of beauty beneath her left eye. Her. With her lashes fluttering against her smooth cheeks as blood poured from her lips. Her. Dying in his arms. 

It was her first. And those words echoed in his ears as she breathed her last breath against his chest. That promise whispered in the calm before the storm. The prophecy. The lightning bolt to the Earth. And the thunder on the horizon.

It was her first. But she was nowhere near the last.

You will lose it all. Even the things that were never yours.

The fire. 

And he can still smell it. All the time. Lingering around him like a fog he can’t outrun. He can run all the way to New York and he can’t outrun that smell. Charred wood and smoke of death. 

The fire. 

The screams. The howls. They’ll never leave the depths of his mind. He could hear them. From his classroom. He could hear them, faint with distance, but always there.

The fire. 

It has to be it. It has to be all of it. The end. There is no more to lose. He’s lost it all. 

All of it. He’s certain of it. And then it’s her. Her with her hazel eyes and her brown hair. Her with her power inherited from their mother. Her with her ability to protect Derek from everything. From everything but her death. 

It’s her. And she’s cut in half. Used at bait to lure him out.

It’s her. And he knows now that it’s all. It’s all of it. He’ll lose it all. Even the things that were never his. 

He can’t feel the pain. As he wraps her in a tarp. Plants the wolfsbane so she is returned to the Earth, to the pack, in the form she was born. 

He can’t feel the pain. Not anymore. The prophecy echoing in his mind. Reminding him. Always reminding him. 

And now he knows. He’s lost it all. Now the only thing left is to wait. Wait for the end. Wait for his life to be over. How can a life be lived with nothing? How can a life be lived knowing he’ll always lose it all? 

He sits in the empty burned out shell of his house. The house he remembers in his dreams. The house that was always warm and full of love. 

The house he remembers in his nightmares. Burning. The crashing of support posts as the flames finally licked through them. Cracking and breaking. Devoured by hatred. And fear. 

He’s a monster. He is a monster and he will always be. 

You will lose it all.

Even the things that were never yours.

Time is a duel. Between fate and desire. 

Death is peace.

Time is fickle.

Death is certain.

You will lose it all.

He will lose it all. Even the kid in the woods. The one bitten by the Alpha. The one who needs to learn control before he gets himself killed by hunters. The hunters that Derek saves him from. He tells them they’re brothers now. He’ll teach him. 

And he means that. Even after the delicate boned human sits in the cop car, telling him he’s not afraid of him, and they both know it’s a lie. Even after they’ve dug up his sister’s body. The body he buried properly. He buried her in the form she was meant for. And they ruined that. They ruined that. And even in death he will lose it all. Even the things that are not his to lose. 

——————

But what happens when there’s nothing left to lose? He spins the wolfsbane poisoned blade on the floor. The floor where they used to play board games on family nights. And they’d lay there while their mother read books to them. And later Laura who would sit in the chair and read the family lore while Derek and Cora fought for space at her feet. 

He spins the blade again. You will lose it all. It reverberates through his body, coursing through his veins like blood, carried to his soul by pain and death. Sorrow, solitude those things are precious. Those things are his. His alone. The only things worth having. The only things that are steady. Reliable. The only things he can never lose. Sorrow. Solitude. He can lose it all. He can lose it all, even the things that were never his. But he can never lose those. 

He tries. He tries to tell his wolf that it’s okay to be alone. But there’s a beta to teach. And a delicate boned human to protect. That delicate boned human isn’t afraid of him anymore. And it’s true now. He touches him. He touches him like he’s not afraid of him. Hands on his cheeks, his voice so far away, through leagues of rushing water, “Derek, wake up,” but desperate. No one’s been desperate for Derek in a long time. No one has touched Derek in a long time.

You will lose it all. Even the things that were never yours to lose.

A barely human uncle. A barely human uncle, the lone survivor of the fire. Eleven of them. Eleven died. Eleven lost. The faces have become a blur. The sounds remain crisp. Always.

——————

The delicate human smiles at him sometimes like he’s not afraid of him. He cracks jokes and makes everything seem better. Lighter somehow. Like the darkness that follows Derek can’t touch Stiles.

But death is the only thing constant. It’s the only release. So he spins the blade. He sits on the floor of the house he grew up in and he spins the blade. Knowing how. Knowing where. Knowing the best way. 

Death is the only constant and it’s Peter who’s life he takes. Not his first. Not his last. 

Death is the only constant and he spins the blade. But there are exceptions to every rule.

You will lose it all. Even the things that were never yours.

It’s her next. It’s her with her chocolate brown eyes and smooth pink skin. It’s her with her blonde hair and confidence. It’s the only side of her Derek ever knew, the wolf side. It’s her. And it’s because of him. He will lose it all. It’s always there in the back of his mind. Even the things that were never his.

Even the things that were never his. So he sends Isaac away. 

Then it’s him. Him with his mocha eyes, his calming presence and his silent strength. It’s him with his body impaled on Derek’s claws. Breathing his least breaths. It’s him, features twisted in pain, pain that mimics itself in Derek’s body. The rush, the thrill that Kali described is only pain. It’s only sorrow. 

Sorrow. Solitude. Those are the only things he can’t lose.

Stiles’ hand like an anchor on his shoulder. The ghost of his touch following Derek for months. And the sound and scent of him following Derek through the months turning into years. And he knows he will lose it. Eventually. Even that.

———————

It’s him. It’s him with his pale skin, perfect marks of beauty, fluttery lashes and eyes like melting chocolate. It’s him and when Derek closes his eyes, it’s her, it’s Paige. 

It’s him lost in the grip of the Nogitsune. It’s him with his wit and sarcasm. It’s him. A boy who has grown up in front of Derek’s eyes. A fearless boy with nothing more than delicate bones and a baseball bat. 

It’s him and soon he’ll be just another name on a list of the lost. 

You will lose it all. Even the things that were never yours. 

Even the fearlessness of a delicate human. 

———————

He has lost it all. Even the things that were never his.

His pack. His family. His friends. His love. 

At times his humanity. His bravery. His want to live. 

He has lost it all. And he’s ready. He’s ready to lose the rest in a desert in Mexico. He’s ready. Even that delicate boned human who stops in his tracks. Stops and looks back. Still has so much to say. So much. Those brown eyes that make him think of home, safety, comfort. The hand that ghosts his shoulder still. Carried around like a brand into his flesh. Even that delicate boned human. Derek’s ready to lose that too. Even if it was never his to lose. 

*******************

An apparition. A shadow of what he once was. 

Pale, gaunt. Bruised charcoal under his eyes. Skin thin, stretched tight over bone. Lips dry, cracked, droplets of blood delicate against tissue paper pink lines. 

Derek opens the screen door, it protests with a screech that makes his hackles rise. The physical appearance in front of him, the ghost of the things that once were, the faded memory of a past he thought he had outrun. A prophecy he thought he could hide from. If he had nothing left, then there would be nothing left to lose. Even the things that were never his. 

Eyes like a warm brown sweater, a mug of steaming hot chocolate, tree bark glistening with the promise of spring. Red-rimmed and glossy.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. 

The trembling in his limbs. The hitch in his heartbeat. The scent of sorrow like the lost comfort of home. Set ablaze, reduced to ash. 

There’s a bag at his feet. His clothes are too lose. HIs skin is too tight.

Derek moves aside. Holding the door open. Watches as he moves slowly. Too slow for his age. Too delicate. Too pained. Too heavy. 

A thunderstorm rolling in on the distance. The electricity in the air. The wind blows steady. He hears it whispering prophecies through the leaves as he closes the cabin door behind him. Watching Stiles standing in the middle of the main room. Stiff. Quiet. Not the kid he was. 

There is anger coming to a slow boil under his pale skin. The delicate armor of a human. It tears and bleeds. It bruises and breaks. 

Derek picks up the duffle bag. Brings it to the guest room. Leaves the door open. Slides the window open a crack. Tucks fresh sheets on the mattress. 

———————

He sits at the dinner table. Watching the soup grow cold. Gelatinous. The spoon remaining untouched beside his knobby elbow. 

Silence. In silence there is strength. In silence there is anger. In silence there is pain.

Derek eats the soup cold. His hand shaking as it extends across the table, slides the bowl to his side. Shaking as it raises the bowl to his lips. 

Eyes like calcite. Rolled smooth and sinking in a pool of water. 

———————

Footsteps in the cabin at night. Knuckles dragging against the wall. The screen door screeching. The floor boards creaking. 

Silence during the day. In silence there is sadness.

In silence there lies a prophecy. One Derek would be blind not to see. 

———————

There’s a hiss when the hot water spatters his pale shoulders. Bones sharp and jagged. 

There’s silence as he stands. Watching the steam rise. Swirl and dissipate. Derek’s hands on his shoulders, holding him steady. Water rebounding off delicate skin and being absorbed by Derek’s t-shirt. 

His eyes are on the floor of the tub. In some hollow space between them. Where everything they’ve ever loved has died. Where everything they’ve ever tried to protect has died. Where every dream and every want and every need has been demolished. 

You will lose it all, even the things that were never yours. 

———————

An owl is eerily reminding Derek that he’s not alone out here. As he sits on the porch listening to the whispers of the leaves above him. The song of the creek rushing past the edge of his yard. 

When the door screeches open, drags against the uneven floorboards of the porch, he stands. He watches as the last ghost of his prophecy exits the cabin. Pale as virgin snow. Body moving in silence. 

In silence there is healing.

His toes curl over the edge of the top stair. The moon and a million stars cling to the hollows of his body. Dancing pale reflections off the surface of every inch of flesh. 

Derek watches as his face turns. The moon forcing his eyes to shine. 

In silence there is sorrow. In silence there is solitude.

His toes uncurl. Every muscle and tendon visible. But the bones are strong. The bones are hidden under layers that belong there. The lean expanse of him something the moon caresses in more intimate ways than any creature ever could. 

A smile tugs at his lips. Pink and smooth. His eyes twinkle. 

The porch swing sighs under the weight of them when they sit. 

Body warm. Body soft. Body hard-lined and sinuous. Body breathing. Body’s still beating heart throbbing the gentle rhythm of comfort. Tucked into Derek’s side.

A hum passes his lips as his head finds the pillow of Derek’s shoulder.

His fingers fidget. Lying against the feathery hair of his thigh. Palm up, fingers folding open. 

You will lose it all. Even the things that were never yours. 

Derek watches his fingers slide down the trail of Stiles’ forearm. Rising goosebumps and a whisper soft sigh exiting lips. Trailing down the translucent blue veins to the flat of his wrist. Pressing swirled fingerprints to the deeply etched scars. Two of them sliding sideways across his wrist. Both wrists. Deeper here on the left side. Hesitant on the right. 

Stitched together by Derek’s fingers, nylon threads to close the gap. Platelets, white blood cells. Fibrin, scab. Now delicate silky bandages of human nature. Forever reminders. Of where you’re been. And where you’re going.

You will lose it all. Even the things that were never yours.

He watches his thumb slide over the scars. Reaching across the lithe body tucked into his side for the other wrist. Taking in the sight. The feel. The pulse beneath his fingers. The sound of his breath against his side. The sound of a hitched choked sob muffled into the top of Stiles’ head as he turns his face to hide there. 

He is the last. The last thing left. The last to lose. 

***************

A shadow on a sundial. A candle flame dancing it’s last dance before forever extinguished. A tick tock of a grandfather clock. The swing and sway of a pendulum. A tick and roll of a flip clock. Bright LCD numbers and digital hums. 

The sun sitting in a blue sky. The moon looming over the darkness. The rotation of the Earth. The change of the seasons. The flow of the tides. Mating season and hibernating season. 

The creases around his eyes. The smile lines fanning out from his mouth. The grey hair speckling the dark chocolate shades. The bend in his fingers. The arch in his back. The spots on the back of his hands. The tissue paper delicacy of his skin. 

His worn teeth and the clack in his jaw. The creaking in his knees. The etchings of time in his delicate human body. The slow sputtering of his heart. The shallow breathing. 

Fingers always cold. Yellowing nails. And the silky ropes marking the roadmap of his life. 

Everything has faded to shades of grey. Except his eyes. Eyes like a warm sweater on a cool Autumn day. Eyes like a cup of hot cocoa on a chilling Winter night. Eyes like damp tree bark on a humid Spring morning. Eyes like a sea-polished pebble rolling in on the surf on a Summer evening. 

Eyes like home. 

A storm is rolling in. Thunder rumbling the horizon. But it’s so calm here. It’s so calm in his embrace. Like nothing can ever touch them here. Nothing can ever harm them here. All along knowing, knowing he will lose it all. Even the things that were never his.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, positive comments, and hellos are welcome :)
> 
> Thanks friends, stay healthy.


End file.
